Sports fan. Connoisseur of good music (especially on vinyl). Consumer of the finest craft beers. Environmental activist. History geek. Dudeist Priest. Hunter S. Thompson junkie. And I write a little. Mostly though, I’m a dad. But I am unlike my dad. I am still the breadwinner, but laundry, cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, hugging, crying, disciplining and nurturing are also part of my routine. I am a domestic machine…I am, like many dads of my generation, The Domestic Warrior.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Come Together: Chuck Berry at the Howard Theater

As published in The County Times (http://countytimes.somd.com) in May 2012

An elderly, city-dwelling African American couple, a
similarly-aged white couple from the suburbs, two 30-something Gen-Xers from
Southern Maryland and a 20-something couple recently transplanted from Indiana
walk into an urban bar to share a dinner table and an evening’s entertainment…

What? You haven’t
heard this joke? That’s because it’s
not a joke. It’s not even fiction. This diverse cast of strangers randomly
assembled and, within moments, conversed like best friends. So you’re thinking, “okay, it’s not a
joke…but is there at least a punch line?”
There is…or at least there’s a point to consider...which I’ll get to
later.

From its opening in 1910, Washington D.C.’s Howard Theater
was fortunately (because it existed at all) and unfortunately (because the
segregated entertainment industry sadly mirrored society) THE place see the
great African American entertainers of the period. Legends such as Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald and James Brown
filled the Howard with their musical genius.
The Howard closed in the early 1980s and for three decades emitted the
worst of sounds for a historic, musical treasure: silence. That changed this year when, after an
extensive renovation, the Howard re-opened.
Being a nostalgic soul and someone lacking any recollection of the
original, it’s hard to say that the Howard has never looked better…but it
simply couldn’t have ever looked better.
Adorned with its iconic “Howard” sign on the theater’s facade and modern
flash inside, the Howard is a spectacular venue befitting its place in American
history.

My cousin and I were the two 30-something Gen-Xers; to
pacify his extensive vanity, I’ll disclose that he’s seven years my
junior. The two elderly couples and the
carefree young lovers from Indiana will remain unidentified. What won’t is the urban “bar”: the Howard
Theater. As the eight of us were seated
at a second-row table, the diversity of the group immediately struck me. What on earth were we going to discuss until
the show started? A nervous panoramic
view slightly tempered my initial unease.
Our situation wasn’t unique; nearly every table looked like a
cross-section of America. The average
age was probably 45 but the distribution around that mean was enormous. There was no identifiable majority race or
gender. Regarding the attire, I’ll
offer this: at one adjacent table sat a gentleman in a tuxedo…at the other was
a dude wearing well-worn jeans and a tattered t-shirt from the movie “The Big
Lebowski” that read, “The Dude Abides.”
Indeed he does.

Our social dilemma was resolved quickly. We talked about…what else…why we were there:
a common love of music and, specifically for this night, of Mr. Chuck
Berry. During our introductions, an
immediate conversational catalyst was identified: the elderly African American
couple was from D.C. and were original Howard patrons. They offered a fascinating account of some
of the best and most under-appreciated acts in music history. The conversation then naturally meandered to
other greats such as Bob Dylan and a band from across the pond that was heavily
influenced by Chuck Berry. You’ve
probably heard of them…they’re called the Rolling Stones.

Showtime arrived before a moment of uncomfortable silence
found our table. The curtains dropped
and before our star-struck eyes appeared a living legend and a (if not the)
godfather of Rock and Roll. Before
Elvis Presley, The Beatles and the Rolling Stones, there was Chuck Berry. For the next hour differences in race,
religion and politics were put on pause by what bound us together: the
infectious blues-infused Rock and Roll of Chuck Berry.

And that’s when the correlation hit me – save for the
9/11 tragedy, sports is the only thing that’s created such beautiful unity amid
such diversity. I love sports for
that. Here’s my short list of sports
moments whose shared euphoria completely drowned out petty differences:
storming the field after the last ‘Skins game at RFK Stadium, attending Cal
Ripken Jr’s record-tying 2,130th straight game (thanks for ticket,
sis) and being in Canton, OH for Art Monk’s and Darrell Green’s induction into
the Pro Football Hall of Fame. What
moments made the stranger next to you a good friend? If only they could penetrate our daily lives more often.